THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Uncle  Phil. 


The  Star  Well 

And  Other  Stories 


By 
Roland  Williamson 


Illustrated  by  the  Author 


New  York 

ttbe  fmtcfcerbocfcer  press 
1916 


Reprinted  through  the  courtesy  of 

Maury's  Magazine,  The  Churchman,  and 

The  Christian  Herald 


Go 

THE   BELOVED   MEMORY   OF    MY    MOTHER 


PS 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

f2   THE  STAR  WELL i 

Courtesy  of  Maury's  Magazine. 
or 

«    "  UNCLE  PHIL  " 23 

oq 

U  A  Story  from  the  Yellow  Fever  Field. 

Courtesy  of  The  Churchman. 


w     ONLY  A  SNIPE 52 

§  Courtesy  of  The  Christian  Herald. 


D 
^ 

GQ 

ul 


448102 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

"UNCLE  PHIL"      .        .         .  Frontispiece 

OF  COURSE,  THE  RIG  WAS  MORTGAGED 

TO  THE  LAST  NOTCH        .        .        .10 

— AND  IT  SEEMED  THAT  I  ALMOST  SAW 

HIM  STANDING  BEFORE  ME    .        .      70 


The  Star  Well 

(Courtesy  of  Maury's  Magazine) 


I  WAS  making  an  overland  prospect 
ing  tour  through  the  Caddo  oil 
field,  that  wonderful  section  of 
Northwest  Louisiana,  where,  within 
the  last  few  years,  from  pools  some  two 
thousand  feet  beneath  a  surface  soil 
notoriously  sterile,  there  has  been 
extracted  millions  of  dollars'  worth  of 
oil.  My  driver,  one  McGraw,  and  I 
were  alone  in  the  surrey.  McGraw 
had  spoken  but  briefly  during  the  first 
two  miles,  but  presently  the  roughen 
ing  of  the  road  seemed  to  loose  his 
tongue,  possibly  to  divert  my  attention 
from  his  unskilful  driving. 

"Did   you   ever   see   a   'wild   weir 


2  THE  STAR  WELL 

afire?"  he  asked.  "It's  a  sight  to  see. 
The  last  one  I  saw  was  the  'Star'  well. 
I  worked  on  that  well.  It's  the  last 
drilling  work  I've  done,  and  I  reckon 
it'll  be  the  last,  because,  somehow,  it 
kinda  'got  my  goat' — the  things  that 
happened  there.  You  talk  about 
mixed-up  luck,  but  it  was  sure  in  that 
well. 

'Two  young  fellows,  Tom  Leigh 
and  John  Anderson,  owned  the  well. 
They  were  fine,  good  looking  chaps, 
and  came  to  the  field  pretty  well 
fixed.  I  don't  think  I  ever  saw  two 
men  more  to  one  another  than  they 
appeared  to  be.  They  were  cousins, 
and  had  been  raised  together  like 
brothers.  John  was  as  lively  as  a 
cricket.  He  was  a  plumb  minstrel 
show  all  the  time,  and  kept  the  hands 
around  the  well  in  a  good  humor, 
telling  jokes  and  singing  songs.  He 


THE  STAR  WELL  3 

had  an  extra  good  voice.  There  never 
was  a  woman  in  these  parts  that  had 
such  a  glorious  voice  as  Tom  Leigh's 
wife  had.  I  am  a  fool  about  good  music ; 
and  whenever  I  go  down  to  New  Or 
leans,  I  always  take  in  the  French 
Opera;  so,  you  see,  I  have  heard  some 
good  music,  and  I'm  no  slouch  of  a 
critic  either.  Of  all  the  music  I've 
ever  heard,  there  was  none,  to  my 
notion,  that  came  up  to  Mrs.  Leigh's 
voice.  Her  name  was  Virginia,  but 
they  called  her  '  Ginger '  —a  nickname, 
she  told  me,  that  her  little  sister  had 
given  her  back  in  Virginia,  where  she 
was  born. 

'Tom  had  a  good  voice,  too;  and, 
at  night,  out  there  at  the  camp,  when 
we  had  shut  down,  them  three  young 
folks  would  strike  up  some  song. 
They  seemed  to  know  everything  in 
the  way  of  music;  and  would  go  right 


4  THE  STAR  WELL 

up  the  line — from  the  Merry  Widow 
to  President  McKinley's  Hymn — Lead, 
Kindly  Light.  They  all  sounded 
mighty  good  and  sweet,  away  out  there 
in  the  woods,  under  the  stars. 

"Ours  was  more  like  a  camping 
party  than  a  drilling  outfit,  and  we  had 
some  mighty  good  times.  Miss  Ginger 
was  the  soul  of  it  all.  She  was  one  of 
those  women  that  is  always  a  joy  to 
see.  Whether  she  was  in  her  '  Sunday- 
go-to-meeting '  clothes  or  in  tramping 
togs,  she  was  beautiful,  and  looked 
as  fresh  as  a  June  rose.  She  had  that 
'godless  grace  and  snap  and  style'  of 
the  New  York  bred  woman  that  Mark 
Twain  tells  of  in  his  Life  on  the  Missis 
sippi.  Miss  Ginger  surely  was  a  fine 
young  woman;  and  every  roughneck 
on  the  job  was  dead  in  love  with  her; 
and  no  wonder,  either,  because  she 
always  treated  them  all  so  white. 


THE  STAR  WELL  5 

"We  all  just  loved    to  hear    Miss 
Ginger  talk.     She  had  a  voice  like  a 
silver  gong,   and  it's  chiming  in  my 
soul  till  yet.     After  telling  us  about 
the  lively  times  she  had  in  the  East, 
she  would  often  wind  up  by  saying: 
'Well,  boys,  here's  to  the  "Star"  well. 
Here's  hoping  it's  a  gusher;  and,  if  it 
is,  we'll  all  of  us  go  to  New  York,  and 
I'll  chaperone  the  crowd.'     She  was  a 
good  woman,  too,  but  just  running  over 
with  life.     Every  Sunday,  she  would 
sing   over   at    Mr.    Irving' s   church — 
got  up  a  good  choir, — and  her  voice 
brought  many  a  roughneck  to  hear  the 
gospel.     I   could  see  that  it  worried 
Miss  Ginger  a  good  deal  because  Torn 
didn't  take  to  much  religion. 

"Tom  and  John  didn't  know  any 
more  about  the  oil  business  than  I  do 
about  the  tariff;  but  they  had  heard 
of  the  big  fortunes  that  folks  had  made 


6  THE  STAR  WELL 

here  in  Caddo,  and  had  decided  to  try 
their  luck.  They  had  a  lease  on  a  forty- 
acre  tract,  and  owned  a  drilling  rig 
that  some  swindler  had  sold  them 
for  about  three  times  what  it  was  worth. 
The  first  two  wells  they  drilled  were 
dry  holes.  In  making  locations  for 
these  two  wells,  Tom  and  John  had 
taken  the  advice  of  some  experienced 
oil  men;  but  the  locating  of  the  third 
well  was  left  to  Miss  Ginger,  and  she, 
knowing  how  Tom  loved  the  lake 
scenery,  picked  out  a  place  for  the 
well  up  on  a  bluff  on  the  lake.  It  was  a 
beautiful  place  all  right;  and  couldn't 
be  improved  on  for  a  camp  site;  but 
I  just  knew  they  would  never  strike 
oil  there ;  and  it  looked  to  me  like  they 
could  have  found  a  camp  site  that  would 
cost  them  less  money  by  several  thou 
sand  dollars. 

"There  just  wasn't  any  counting  on 


THE  STAR  WELL  7 

what  those  young  folks  would  do. 
For  instance,  when  we  were  ready  to 
start  drilling  on  the  'Star'  well,  Miss 
Ginger  and  John  stepped  up  on  the 
derrick  platform,  and  John  broke  a 
bottle  of  wine  over  the  drill  bit,  making 
a  nice  little  speech  at  the  time.  After 
which,  Miss  Ginger  stood  there,  with 
the  sun  shining  on  her  golden  hair,  and, 
looking  up  through  the  opening  in  the 
trees  about  the  derrick  into  the  blue 
sky,  said  a  short  little  prayer  for  the 
well.  It  was  said  in  such  a  lovely, 
honest,  simple  way,  that  it  touched 
the  heart  of  every  roughneck  there; 
and,  although  it  looked  all  along  like 
it  was  the  unluckiest  well  I'd  ever 
seen,  in  the  end,  the  way  things  have 
turned  out,  that  little  prayer  must 
have  gone  right  straight  up  to  Heaven. 
"They  called  it  the  'Star'  well; 
though  it  seemed  to  me  it  ought 


8  THE  STAR  WELL 

to  have  been  the  'Hoodoo,'  because 
it  fairly  boiled  over  with  bad  luck 
from  the  start — trouble  of  one  kind 
or  another. 

"One  day,  when  the  well  was  down 
over  two  thousand  feet,  something  got 
the  matter  with  the  pipe  hoist,  and 
John  undertook  to  fix  it.  He  had  to 
put  a  rope  through  a  pulley-block,  up 
about  a  hundred  feet  in  the  derrick; 
and,  as  he  had  to  use  both  hands  to 
climb  the  derrick  ladder,  he  tied  the 
end  of  the  rope  around  his  waist. 
When  he  got  up  about  seventy-five 
feet,  the  loose  end  of  the  rope  got 
around  the  shaft  of  the  drilling  engine 
down  on  the  platform.  The  engine 
was  running  slow,  and  the  shaft  was 
small.  John  looked  down,  and  seen 
what  was  happening.  He  yelled  to 
someone  to  stop  the  engine.  Tom 
made  a  jump  to  cut  the  rope;  but,  as 


THE  STAR  WELL  9 

Fate  would  have  it,  he  slipped  and 
fell  on  the  platform — you  know,  a 
floor  around  an  engine  is  always  greasy. 
In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it, 
Tom  was  up;  but  that  short  space  of 
time  must  have  been  like  eternity  to 
poor  John,  as  his  grip  was  being  pulled 
loose  from  that  ladder.  Tom  was  too 
late;  and  as  his  knife  struck  the  rope, 
John  fell,  and  his  body,  with  the  life 
crushed  out  of  it,  lay  quivering  on  the 
platform. 

"That  came  mighty  near  doing 
Tom  up.  He  would  have  quit  the 
game  right  there,  I  reckon,  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  Miss  Ginger.  She  loved  John, 
too;  but,  taking  it  by  and  large,  a 
woman  is  a  whole  lot  more  practical 
than  a  man.  Then,  too,  when  a 
woman  is  young  and  pretty,  and  has 
had  a  taste  of  the  life  that  big  money 
can  bring,  not  alone  to  herself  but  to 


io  THE  STAR  WELL 

the  folks  she  loves,  the  winning  or 
losing  of  a  fortune  means  a  whole  lot 
more  to  her  than  to  a  man. 

"So,  Tom  went  on  with  the  well. 
When  they  got  down  about  twenty- 
five  hundred  feet — around  twenty- 
three  hundred  feet  is  the  oil  strata,  he 
was  as  blue  a  looking  man  as  ever  I  see. 
Ruin  was  staring  him  in  the  face.  He 
hardly  had  money  enough  to  pay  off 
the  hands.  Though  he  didn't  need 
it  for  that  so  much — I  believe  them 
roughnecks  would  have  gone  straight 
through  to  China,  for  Miss  Ginger's 
sake,  on  no  pay, — but  the  pipe  was 
giving  out;  and,  you  know,  you  can't 
drill  a  well  without  pipe.  Of  course, 
the  rig  was  mortgaged  to  the  last 
notch. 

"Tom  wanted  to  quit,  but  Miss 
Ginger  kept  pushing  him  on.  'Just 
one  more  day;  only  one  more  day,' 


Of  course,  the  rig  was  mortgaged  to  the  last  notch. 


THE  STAR  WELL  11 

she'd  beg.  Well,  sir,  when  we  lacked 
only  two  joints  of  pipe  of  being  plumb 
out,  the  well  came  in. 

"If  you  ain't  ever  seen  a  big  gusher 
come  in,  you  won't  know  how  it  is, 
because  I  couldn't  halfway  begin  to 
tell  you.  You  have  to  see  one.  When 
the  first  little  shudder  run  over  the 
derrick,  I  knew  what  was  coming, 
and  told  Tom  and  Miss  Ginger.  Some 
thing  was  going  to  happen,  and  happen 
right  away;  but  whether  it  was  going 
to  be  just  a  big  gas  or  salt  water  blow 
out,  or  the  nasty,  blessed  oil,  they 
didn't  know.  For  a  little  while,  you 
could  hear  your  heart  beat,  every 
thing  was  so  still.  There  was  another 
shudder,  and  the  derrick  platform 
seemed  to  move  under  your  feet  like 
the  deck  of  a  ship;  then  the  well  tore 
loose  like  a  monster  boiler  blowing 
off,  and  up  shoots  a  column  of  oil 


12  THE  STAR  WELL 

through  the  derrick,  and  the  nasty 
stuff  comes  spattering  down  on  every 
thing  and  everybody. 

"When  you  know  it  means  wealth 
— the  way  out  of  your  troubles,  debts 
paid,  a  fine  home,  travel  and  all  that 
— you  don't  mind  the  oil  falling  on 
you  a  bit.  It's  the  same  feeling  a 
fellow  has  that  is  baptized  with  the 
blood,  when  he's  killed  his  first  deer. 
It's  being  'anointed  with  the  oil  of 
gladness  above  thy  fellows ' — anointed 
'with  the  oil  of  joy  for  mourning.' 
Everybody  was  happy,  though  we 
was  all  thinking  about  poor  John,  and 
wishing  he  was  with  us.  Miss  Ginger 
got  plumb  hysterical. 

"Well,  sir,  you  would  think,  when 
that  well  come  in  like  that,  that  Fate 
had  played  her  last  card — her  trump 
card ;  but  she  hadn't.  The  second  day 
after  the  well  had  come  in,  she  had 


THE  STAR  WELL  13 

already  poured  out  more  than  twenty 
thousand  dollars'  worth  of  oil.  Every 
body  was  working  on  pipe  lines  and 
storage  tanks.  Torn  and  Miss  Ginger 
were  laying  their  plans  to  go  East; 
and  I  was  mean  enough  to  be  secretly 
wishing  that  the  well  hadn't  come  in, 
for  the  thought  of  those  two  people 
going  so  far  away,  and,  perhaps,  clear 
out  of  my  life,  kinda  worried  me. 

"Along  about  four  o'clock  in  the 
evening  of  the  second  day,  a  storm 
came  up.  It  wasn't  much  of  a  storm, 
and  lasted  just  a  few  minutes.  A 
flash  of  lightning  blazed  down;  and 
by  the  time  the  people  got  up — one 
workman  at  the  tank  never  did  get 
up,  being  killed — and  looked  towards 
the  well,  they  seen  a  column  of  smoke 
and  flames  that  boiled  up  to  the  very 
sky  and  all  over  it. 

"The  derrick  was  burned  up  in  no 


14  THE  STAR  WELL 

time — like  that  much  paper; — and 
pretty  soon,  you  could  see,  every  now 
and  then,  through  the  shifting  flames 
and  smoke,  the  well  pipe,  itself.  What 
made  matters  worse,  they  had  put  on  a 
'T'  joint  on  the  well,  and  that  poured 
the  oil  down  on  the  ground.  If  it 
had  been  a  straight  pipe,  the  force  of  the 
oil  would  have  put  the  flames  up  so 
high,  that  the  men  could  have  worked 
on  the  pipe,  right  at  the  mouth  of  the 
well. 

' '  When  the  news  of  the  fire  went  out 
through  the  field — the  field  is  about 
thirty  miles  north  and  south,  by  ten 
east  and  west — the  different  oil  com 
panies  and  lots  of  men  volunteered  to 
fight  the  fire.  A  meeting  was  held 
down  at  Shreveport,  that  night  and 
the  next  morning  there  were  fifty 
boilers  on  the  move,  from  different 
parts  of  the  field,  to  that  wild  well,  and 


THE  STAR  WELL  15 

getting  there  as  fast  as  mule  teams 
could  haul  them  over  those  rough 
roads. 

"On  the  third  day  the  boilers  were 
in  place — in  batteries  of  ten — a  good 
piece  from  the  well.  Leading  down  to 
five  main  line  pipes,  there  was  pipes 
running  from  the  steam  dome  of  each 
boiler.  The  ends  of  these  main  lines 
were  run  out  to  the  well — pushed  out 
into  position,  as  well  as  the  men  could 
get  them  in  that  hell  of  fire  and  heat 
around  the  well. 

"The  men  made  shields — about  four 
feet  wide  and  ten  feet  high — out  of 
planks  and  sheet  iron,  with  props 
back  of  them,  and,  in  that  way,  got 
up  tolerable  close  to  the  well.  There 
were  about  a  dozen  leads  of  water 
hose,  and,  with  them,  the  men  put  out 
the  fires  on  the  little  oil  ponds  around 
the  well,  and  also  kept  the  men  and 


16  THE  STAR  WELL 

shields  from  burning  up  by  throwing 
streams  of  water  on  them.  You  see 
it  wouldn't  do  no  good  to  put  out  the 
well,  unless  all  the  fires  around  it  were 
out,  because  it  would  blaze  right  up 
again — catching  from  the  gas  that 
always  hangs  around. 

"When  everything  was  ready  for 
the  steam  blow,  it  was  along  about 
nine  o'clock  at  night.  There  was  a 
big  crowd  on  hand  to  see  it.  People 
had  come  from  long  distances — you 
could  see  the  glow  twenty  miles  away. 
There  was  a  moving-picture  man 
there,  too.  He  happened  to  be  down 
at  Shreveport,  taking  pictures;  and 
when  he  heard  about  the  burning  well 
he  came  right  on  up  with  his  picture 
machine.  Nothing  stops  them  moving- 
picture  men;  they  are  worse  than  a 
war  correspondent,  and  try  to  get 
right  out  on  the  firing  line. 


THE  STAR  WELL  17 

"It  turned  out  that  this  picture  man 
knew  Tom  and  Miss  Ginger,  having 
lived  and  run  with  them  in  New  York. 
He  was  a  mighty  nice  fellow ;  and  Tom 
and  Miss  Ginger,  after  talking  with 
him  awhile  about  the  'old  town'  as 
they  called  New  York,  seemed  more 
heartened  than  we  had  seen  them  since 
John  got  killed.  Well,  this  moving- 
picture  man  rigged  him  up  a  screen, 
and  got  so  intent  taking  them  doings 
around  the  well,  and  pushed  up  so 
close  to  the  fire,  that  the  heat  warped 
the  shutter  of  his  machine  and  came 
mighty  near  putting  him  out  of  busi 
ness. 

"  There  were  roughneck  heroes  there 
at  that  fire  that  night.  It's  queer 
how  men  will  do  in  a  time  of  danger. 
Although  they  were  only  getting  cold 
dollars  for  their  work,  they  went  into 
that  fight  on  that  well  and  took 


1 8  THE  STAR  WELL 

chances  that  would  seem,  to  most 
folks,  fit  only  for  a  battle  for  one's 
country.  Our  country,  though,  after 
all,  means  the  women  and  children  we 
love;  and  most  of  those  roughnecks 
there  loved  Miss  Ginger,  and  knew 
what  this  well  meant  to  her. 

"When  the  steam  was  turned  on 
that  fire,  it  sounded  like  all  the  thun 
ders  and  cyclones  and  cataracts  and 
other  rip-roaring  things  put  into  one; 
and  you  would  think  it  would  have  put 
out  the  fires  of  hell,  itself;  but  when  the 
steam  died  down  a  bit,  the  fire  came 
roaring  up  again,  worse  than  before. 

"Miss  Ginger  was  plumb  sick  with 
disappointment,  and  so  was  Tom; 
but  he  didn't  let  down  a  bit.  He 
just  set  the  men  to  getting  up  steam 
again  and  told  me  that  the  trouble 
was  that  the  end  of  one  of  the  main 
lines  wasn't  pointed  just  right  at  the 


THE  STAR  WELL  19 

fire.  In  pushing  this  main  line  out, 
it  went  on  the  wrong  side  of  a  little 
burned-off  stump,  and  it  couldn't 
be  pushed  over  into  the  right  place 
on  account  of  that  stump.  The  stump 
was  mighty  close  up  to  the  well;  and 
when  Tom  told  me  that  he  was  going 
in  and  throw  this  pipe  over  the  stump, 
I  told  him  not  to  try  it  till  the  wind 
shifted.  I  went  around  to  the  other 
side  of  the  circle  about  the  well;  and, 
when  I  looked  back,  I  seen  Tom  out, 
behind  a  screen,  and  almost  to  the 
stump.  He  had  a  bar  in  his  hand,  and 
was  going  to  use  it  as  a  lever  to  throw 
the  line  pipe  over  the  stump.  Just  as 
I  looked  towards  Tom,  he  jumped 
out  from  behind  the  screen  with  the 
lever,  and,  putting  it  under,  threw 
the  pipe  over.  I  thought  he  would 
roast  right  there.  He  wheeled  around, 
and  as  he  did,  a  gust  of  wind  blew 


20  THE  STAR  WELL 

the  well  fire  and  smoke  over  him. 
Then  I  saw  him  reel,  with  his  hands 
over  his  face,  and  stumble  and  fall. 

"Most  of  the  men  were  over  at  the 
boilers;  but  those  that  saw,  made  a  rush 
for  the  hose  lines  and  for  Tom.  The 
whole  thing  happened  in  a  minute. 
We  heard  a  scream;  and,  out  from  the 
black  of  the  tree  shadows,  rushing 
into  the  circle  of  fire,  came  Miss  Ginger, 
making  straight  for  Tom.  People 
yelled  to  her  to  go  back.  We  were  on 
the  other  side,  and  couldn't  get  to 
her.  She  rushed  on  and  in. 

"Men  with  thick  boots  and  leather- 
like  suits  can  go  where  fluffy  dressed 
women  can't;  and  just  as  she  reached 
Tom,  Miss  Ginger's  dress  must  have 
touched  one  of  the  little  flames  on  a 
small  oil  pond,  or  it  may  have  been 
just  the  natural  heat,  itself,  that  did 
it;  anyway,  in  a  second,  a  great  sheet 


THE  STAR  WELL  21 

of  flame  seemed  to  wrap  her  up  and 
hold  her  tight.  Then,  another  gust 
of  wind  blew  the  flames  and  smoke 
right  down  over  her  and  Tom.  We 
men  went  right  towards  it,  and  the 
wind  blew  off  again,  and  we  grabbed 
Tom  and  what  was  left  of  Miss  Ginger. 
It  makes  me  sick,  even  now,  when  I 
think  of  it.  Every  roughneck  that 
had  worked  with  us,  and  knew  all  of 
the  loveliness  of  the  soul  that  had  gone 
out  of  that  poor,  black,  burned  body, 
that  we  now  laid  down  and  covered 
with  our  coats,  couldn't  help  but  cry. 
Not  out  loud,  though,  for  Tom's  sake. 
He  poor  soul,  couldn't  see  her — thank 
God! — his  eyes  being  about  burned 
out  of  his  head,  when  he  fell  with  his 
face  against  that  pipe. 

"After  the  '  Star'  well  was  put  out 
it  flowed  seven  thousand  barrels  and 
over  a  day  for  months,  and  every- 


22  THE  STAR  WELL 

body  that  had  anything  to  do  with  it 
got  rich.  But  John  and  Ginger  and 
Tom,  who  started  and  named  it  and 
loved  it — Oh,  well — life's  like  that  in 
the  oil  fields,"  finished  McGraw,  stop 
ping  his  horse,  "and  here's  your  pros 
pect." 


"Uncle  Phil" 

A  Story  from  the  Yellow  Fever  Field 
(Courtesy  of  The  Churchman) 

FOR  more  than   two   months  the 
citizens    of    T had     been 

guarding    the    town    from    an 
invasion  of  the  dreaded  yellow  fever. 

It  was  October,  and  the  yellowing 
leaves  and  cooling  breezes  gave  prom 
ise  of  the  much  desired  frost  that  would 
drive  "Yellow  Jack"  back  to  his 
tropical  home. 

An  army  of  volunteer  quarantine 
guards  were  still  keeping  a  sharp  look 
out,  both  day  and  night,  for  anyone 
from  an  infected  district  who  might 
attempt  to  enter  their  town. 

John  Gregg  was  captain  of  the  force 
23 


24  "UNCLE  PHIL" 

then  on  duty,  and  was  riding  along  the 
dusty  road  making  the  rounds. 

As  he  came  in  sight  of  Post  No.  6, 
located  on  one  of  the  many  roads 
leading  out  of  T-  — ,  he  was  hailed 
by  one  of  the  guards. 

"Captain,  you're  just  in  time,"  said 
the  guard  to  Gregg,  as  the  latter  rode 
up  to  the  little  group  of  men  who  sur 
rounded  a  dilapidated  wagon,  the  sole 
occupant  of  which  was  an  aged  negro. 

'  There  ain't  any  doubt  but  what  this 
old  fellow  came  from  New  Orleans," 
continued  the  speaker,  as  he  recklessly 
pointed  his  long-barreled  revolver  to 
ward  the  battered  old  derby  perched 
upon  the  grizzled  head  of  his  captive. 
"Just  look  at  them  fine  duds.  You 
know  nobody  but  a  New  Orleans  dude 
could  wear  such  togs.  I  guess  we 
had  better  kill  the  old  boy." 

"You  must  be  a  fool,  Peters.     Put 


"UNCLE  PHIL"  25 

that  gun  up, "  ordered  Gregg,  in  a  tone 
that  had  the  effect  of  transferring  the 
smile  on  Peters 's  face  to  the  men 
standing  about  him.  "Where  is  your 
pass,  uncle?  This  is  a  quarantine 
post,  you  know,  and  the  men  have 
orders  to  turn  back  all  persons  who 
haven't  certificates." 

"Cap'n,  I  ain't  got  no  stiffkit  nur 
nuttin',"  candidly  admitted  the  old 
negro.  "I  lives  way  down  yander  in 
the  kentry, "  he  continued,  indicating 
the  direction  of  his  home  by  pointing 
with  his  whip-staff  down  the  red  clay 
road.  "I  ain't  hyar  nuttin'  'bout 
no  kyaranteen.  I'se  tellin'  you  de 
troof,  Cap'n.  My  ole  woman  hed 
a  bad  tetch  uv  de  rheumatiz  night 
afore  las',  so  I  fotch  a  basket  uv  eggs 
up,  an'  'lowed  to  buy  some  liniment." 

He  paused,  but  the  Captain  remained 
silent. 


26  "UNCLE  PHIL", 

"No,  sir,  Cap'n,  I  ain't  got  no  stiffkit, 
but  I  sho'  ain't  fum  New  'rleans.  I 
hopes  yo'  ain't  gwine  send  me  back 
bedoubt  dat  liniment,  kase  my  ole 
woman  is  sufferin'  pow'ful  wid  de 
misery.  Please  don'  send  me  home, 
Cap'n." 

Captain  Gregg  sat  silently  upon  his 
horse,  flicking  at  the  toe  of  his  riding 
boot  with  the  long  end  of  the  reins. 
He  was  endeavoring  to  formulate  some 
plan  which  would  give  the  old  negro 
his  much-desired  liniment.  His  sup 
plicant  was  gazing  very  intently  into 
his  face,  and  presently  asked : 

"  Cap'n,  what  mought  be  yo'  name?  " 

"John  Gregg." 

The  face  of  the  old  negro  fairly  shone 
with  joy  as  he  shouted:  "Lawd  bless 
my  soul,  marster.  I  knowed  you  wuz 
some  uv  my  white  folks  time  you 
squelched  dat  man  what  p'inted  dat 


"UNCLE  PHIL"  27 

pistol  at  me.  My  white  folks  tuk 
moughty  good  care  uv  dyah  niggers, 
an'  I  seen  you  wuz  uv  de  blood.  I 
sho  is  proud  to  see  you.  Dis  is  ole 
Phil  Hawes.  You  'members  me,  don't 
you,  Marse  John?" 

"Why  of  course  I  do  now,  Uncle 
Phil,"  replied  Captain  Gregg  warmly. 
"It's  been  a  long  time,  though,  since 
we  last  saw  each  other.  I  have  been 
up  North  for  about  fifteen  years.  I've 
only  been  back  here  about  six  months, 
and  have  only  been  down  to  the  old 
place  twice  since  my  return,  and  then 
stayed  for  such  a  short  time  that  I 
couldn't  get  about  to  see  all  of  my 
old  friends.  I  am  very  glad  to  see 
you  again.  How  are  you  getting 
along?" 

"Jes'  tolerable,  Marse  John,  jes' 
tolerable,  "replied  Uncle  Phil,  wiping 
his  black  though  beaming  face  with  a 


28  "UNCLE  PHIL" 

gloriously  red  bandana  handkerchief, 
which  he  then  proceeded  to  stow  away 
in  the  top  of  his  hat.  "Hit  'pears  to 
me  like  de  good  ole  times  is  plum' 
gone  fer  good.  Looks  like  all  de 
folks  is  thinkin'  'bout  now  is  makin' 
money.  Plum'  'stracted  'bout  money. 
When  I  sees  de  po'  white  trash  puttin' 
on  de  airs  wid  de  little  buggies,  ridin' 
'roun'  an'  set  tin'  up  fer  somebody, 
hit  sho  makes  me  larf.  Ax  'em  fer 
sump'n,  an'  den  yo'  see  dyah  troo 
blood.  Why  marster,  when  dey  give 
a  nigger  a  dime,  dey  think  dey  done  it 
all.  Hit  'muse  me  fer  sho,  'kase  I 
thinks  'bout  dem  good  ole  times  when 
a  dime  wa'n't  nuttin'  to  a  white 
gent'mari. 

"I  'members  one  day  yo'  pa  come 
troo  de  fiel',  down  on  de  big  road,  er 
drivin'  over  to  yo'  grandpa's  ter  see 
yo'  ma.  I  wuz  choppin'  cotton,  an* 


"UNCLE  PHIL"  29 

when  I  look  up  de  road  an'  see  dat 
black  span  er  horses  what  he  aluz 
drove  I  runs  to  de  gate  an'  opens 
hit.  Yo'  pa  never  stopped,  but  he 
holler  out:  'Thank  you,  Phil,'  an' 
wid  dat  he  pitch  out  sump'n  side  de 
road.  I  picked  hit  up,  an'  what  yo' 
reckon  hit  wuz?  Hit  wa'n't  no  fo'  bits, 
an'  hit  wa'n't  no  dollar  nurr.  Hit 
war  a  five  dollar  gol'  piece,  bless  yo' 
soul.  De  nex'  day  I  hyarn  'bout 
yo'  bein'  born,  an'  den  I  knowed  why 
yo'  pa  never  stopped  to  talk  wid  me- 
Mebbe  yo'  hed  sump'n  to  do  wid  me 
gettin'  dat  gol'  piece,  Marse  John, 
'kase  I  know  yo'  pa  sho  wuz  glad  an* 
proud  when  yo'  come. 

"I  tell  yo',  marster,  dat's  de  way  de 
folks  ac'  in  dem  days.  Dat's  de  way 
quality  folks  ac'. 

"Marse  John,  yo'  ain't  got  a  little 
terbacky  'bout  yo',  is  yo'?  I'se  plum' 


30  "UNCLE  PHIL" 

'stracted  fer  a  smoke.     Thank  'e,  suh, 
thank  'e. 

"Now,  marster,  what  yo'  gwine  do 
wid  dis  po'  ole  nigger?  Yo'  ain't 
gwine  sen'  me  back  widout  let  tin'  me 
go  in  town,  is  yo'?  My  ole  woman  is 
jes'  'bleeged  to  hev  dat  liniment,  an' 
I  ain't  gwine  to  resk  to  go  home  be- 
doubt  hit,  ef  her  arm  is  crippled  wid 
de  rheumatiz." 

Captain  Gregg  looked  somewhat 
worried  over  this  direct  request  for 
judgment  in  a  matter  wherein  the 
comfort  of  a  rheumatic  woman  and  the 
safety  of  her  husband  were  the  issues 
involved,  and  hesitated  a  few  moments 
before  he  replied. 

"Uncle  Phil,  this  is  a  serious  matter. 
We  have  positive  instructions  not  to 
allow  anyone  to  come  in  town,  unless 
they  have  health  certificates.  You 
know  I  would  be  glad  to  help  you. 


"UNCLE  PHIL"  31 

Let  me  see,"  he  continued,  "I  think 
I  can  fix  it.  You  just  wait  right  here 
till  I  return.  I  won't  be  gone  long. 
What  sort  of  liniment  did  your  wife 
want?  'Lightning  Rod?'  All  right. 
You  stay  right  here  till  I  come." 

Leaving  the  old  negro,  Captain 
Gregg  rode  across  to  a  suburban  home, 
some  quarter  of  a  mile  distant,  where 
he  telephoned  in  town  to  a  friend  to 
send  assistance  in  the  shape  of  a  trusty 
negro  boy.  When  he  returned  to  the 
quarantine  post,  he  found  Uncle  Phil 
seated  under  a  big  tree  enjoying  a 
smoke  from  the  tobacco  which  his 
diplomacy  had  secured  from  his  "young 
marster." 

Captain  Gregg  dismounted,  and, 
almost  instinctively,  Phil  hastened  to 
take  the  reins  from  him,  and  hitch 
the  young  man's  horse  to  a  near-by 
rail  fence.  Then  taking  a  seat  at  a 


32  "UNCLE  PHIL" 

little  distance  from  Captain  Gregg, 
he  remarked : 

"Tears  like  de  yaller  fever  is  'batin' 
down  some,  ain't  it,  marster?  I  ain't 
hyarn  'bout  none  fer  a  coon's  age." 

"Why,  yes,  Uncle  Phil,"  replied 
Gregg.  "Yellow  Jack  will  be  a  thing 
of  the  past  in  New  Orleans,  after  this 
year.  You  know,  for  years  the  doctors 
didn't  know  what  caused  the  fever, 
but  now  they  have  found  out  that  it  is 
only  spread  by  a  mosquito,  and  as  the 
mosquito  can  be  exterminated,  the 
problem  is  solved." 

"I  aluz  did  disdain  a  miserable 
skeeter , ' '  observed  Uncle  Phil .  "I  trus ' 
dey  will  sterminate  him.  If  hit's  a 
skeeter  what  perjuce  de  yaller  fever, 
dey  sho  come  nigh  gittin'  yo'  pa. 

"I  'members  when  he  had  dis  same 
yaller  fever  in  dis  same  town  what 
yinner  is  gyardin'  now.  Hit  war  en- 


"UNCLE  PHIL"  33 

jurin'  uv  de  wah.  I  wuz  yo'  grandpa's 
kerige  driver,  an'  I  stayed  'roun'  de 
big  house  mos'  all  de  time.  When  de 
news  come  dat  yo'  pa  wuz  took  down, 
Miss  Mary  wuz  plum'  'stracted. 
Nobody  ain't  tell  me  so,  but  I  knowed 
dat  Miss  Mary  and  Marse  Henry  wuz 
engage'  befo'  he  went  off  to  de  wah. 
I  say  nobody  ain't  tell  me  dis,  but  I 
tell  yo',  Marse  John,  dyah's  some 
things  a  pusson  don'  have  to  be  tol',  an' 
dis  wuz  one  uv  'em.  I  used  to  be  one 
mo'  fiddler  'fo'  I  got  'ligion,  an'  I 
sot  up  many  a  night  a  playin'  fer  de 
balls,  an'  I  would  'a'  had  to  be  plum' 
blin'  ef  I  ain't  seen  dat  Miss  Mary 
an'  Marse  Henry  love  one  nurr.  I 
jes'  seen  it  shinin'  troo  dey  eyes. 

"Well,  suh,  yo'  grandpa  wuz  over 
to  de  ribber  place  when  de  news  come, 
an'  couldn't  er  got  back  under  a  week. 
Dyah  wa'n't  nobody  wid  Miss  Mary 


34  "UNCLE  PHIL" 

but  her  aunty,  ole  Miss  Sarah.  (Yo' 
do*  'member  her;  she  died  when  you 
wa'n't  nuttin'  but  a  baby.)  Miss 
Sarah  wuz  moughty  good  in  some  ways, 
but  I's  bound  to  admit  she  wuz  pow'ful 
sot  in  her  ways.  My  ole  woman, 
Rose  (she  wuz  de  house  gal  den),  say 
Miss  Mary  went  to  Miss  Sarah  an' 
jes'  beg  her  to  take  her  to  town  so  she 
could  nuss  Marse  Henry  but  Miss 
Sarah  say  no  indeed  she  won't,  dat  hit 
won't  be  proper,  an'  'lowed  she  wa'n't 
gwine  let  Miss  Mary  go.  Miss  Mary  she 
cry  an'  'lowed  she  jes'  'bleeged  to  go. 

"Yo'  see  it  wuz  like  dis:  De  wuz  a 
trifm'n'  white  boy  on  de  place,  name 
Flanders,  what  yo'  grandpa  used  to 
sen'  over  to  de  boat  landin'  for  de  mail. 
He  loose  a  letter  what  Marse  Henry 
writ  to  Miss  Mary.  He  ain't  tell 
nobody  nuttin'  'bout  it.  Nex'  time 
he  goes  fer  de  mail  (we  jes'  git  de  mail 


"UNCLE  PHIL"  35 

once  a  week)  he  seen  a  letter  fum 
Marse  Henry  to  Miss  Mary,  an'  what 
yo'  reckon  dat  po'  trash  done?  He 
keep  de  letter,  'kase  he  wuz  skeered 
dat  hit  would  tell  'bout  dat  urr  letter 
what  he  done  loose.  I  found  de  las' 
letter  in  a  crack  side  de  corn  crib, 
whar  it  been  hid  'bout  two  weeks,  an' 
I  fetch  it  up  to  de  big  house,  an'  han' 
it  to  Miss  Sarah.  She  call  dat  Flanders 
boy  up,  an'  arfter  he  lie  'roun'  'bout 
it  some,  he  jes'  bust  out  wid  de  whole 
troof. 

"I  knowed  den  what  it  wuz  dat  had 
mek  Miss  Mary  look  so  po'ly  an' 
bothered.  Dat  wuz  on  a  Monday 
dat  I  fin'  de  letter,  an'  hit  war  de  nex' 
day  dat  de  news  come  'bout  Marse 
Henry  bein'  tuk  wid  de  yaller  fever. 

"Rose  she  tell  me  she  heah  Miss 
Mary,  when  she  war  beggin'  Miss 
Sarah  to  tek  her  to  town,  say,  'I  jes' 


36  '  "UNCLE  PHIL" 

'bleeged  to  go  to  him  now.  When  I 
ain't  heah  fum  him  in  three  weeks, 
'kase  er  dat  horrid  Flanders,  I  thinks 
he  ain't  keer  fer  me.  Hit  hu't  me 
dat  bad,  I  jes'  write  him  a  tumble 
letter,  an'  tol'  him  I  ain't  never  love 
him,  an'  for  him  to  sen'  back  all  my 
letters.  I  tells  him  I  ain't  never  wan' 
see  his  face  ag'in.  An'  now  he's 
dyin',  an'  no  one  to  miss  him.  Oh 
Aunt  Sarah,  I  jes'  bleeged  to  go  to 
him.' 

"Miss  Sarah  sot  her  jaw  right  tight, 
an'  'lowed  she  wa'n't  go'  'low  Miss 
Mary  to  go.  Ts  got  charge  er  you,' 
sez  she,  'an'  I  ain't  gwine  let  you  dis 
grace  de  Leigh  name  wid  no  sech 
actinV 

"Miss  Mary  beg  an'  beg,  but  it 
wa'n't  no  use.  When  Miss  Sarah 
say  no  she  mean  no,  an'  dey  ain't  nuttin* 
gwine  budge  her. 


"UNCLE  PHIL"  37 

"Well,  Miss  Mary  see  she  can't 
convert  Miss  Sarah  ef  she  cry  her  eyes 
plum'  out.  So  she  jes'  goes  an'  locks 
herself  up  in  her  room.  Miss  Sarah 
she  thinks  she  hed  done  right,  an' 
dat  she  hed  done  squelch  Miss  Mary, 
but  she  wuz  wrong  'bout  dat. 

"Dat  night,  when  I  wuz  puttin' 
water  in  de  kitchen,  my  ole  woman 
whispered  to  me,  dat  Miss  Mary  want 
to  speak  wid  me  'roun'  to  her  room 
winder.  So  I  slipped  'roun'  dar,  an' 
fin'  young  Miss  settin'  in  de  winder. 
Hit  wuz  deep  dusk,  but  I  could  see  her 
face  wuz  ez  white  ez  a  sheet.  'Phil,' 
sez  she,  an'  her  voice  shook  pow'ful, 
'I've  helped  you  out  uv  trouble  once 
or  twice,  an'  I  wants  ter  see  if  you 
'predates  it.' 

"  I  'lowed  dyar  wa'n't  nuttin'  I  would 
n't  do  fer  her.  (All  of  ole  marster's 
niggers  loved  Miss  Mary.  She  sho 


44810! 


38  "  UNCLE  PHIL  " 

wuz  a  angel  on  dat  place,  an'  de  overseer 
what  would  strike  one  of  ole  marster's 
niggers  onjesly  had  better  keep  hit 
fum  Miss  Mary,  'kase  she  sho  would 
mek  her  pa  tu'n  him  off.) 

" '  Phil,'  sez  she, '  I's  got  to  go  to  town 
to-night,  an'  I  wants  you  to  drive  me 
an'  Rose  dar  in  de  kerige.  Aunt 
Sarah  don'  want  me  to  go,  so  I's  got 
to  slip  away.  You  get  the  kerige 
ready  an'  keep  it  down  to  the  big  gate. 
We  will  get  away  jes'  as  soon  as  we 
can.  You  be  ready,  an'  wait  fer  us 
at  de  big  gate  till  we  come.' 

"I  jes'  sez,  'Alright,  little  Miss,  Phil 
will  be  dar.' 

"I  wuz  feelin'  sorter  narvous  like, 
dat  night.  I  ain't  min'  de  drive,  but 
I  feel  jubous  'kase  I  knowed  how  ole 
marster  love  little  Miss,  an'  I  wuz 
feared  she  would  get  de  yaller  fever 
an'  die.  I  wa'n't  skeered  'bout  me 


"UNCLE  PHIL"  39 

an'  Rose,  'kase  a  nigger  don'  have 
yaller  fever,  nohow. 

"Howsomever,  I  hitch  up  dat  kerige 
jes'  as  soon  as  I  got  troo  to  tin'  in  my 
wood  an'  water.  De  kerige  house  was 
moughty  close  to  de  big  house,  an' 
I  hed  to  be  moughty  quiet  to  keep  ole 
Miss  Sarah  fum  hearin'.  I  sat  up  in 
de  kerige  a  long  time,  an'  hed  sorter 
drap  off  to  sleep  when  Miss  Mary  an 
Rose  come. 

"We  drove  'way  pow'ful  quiet,  an' 
de  ain't  none  uv  us  say  nuttin'  fer  a 
good  while.  Den  Rose  tells  me  dat  de 
reason  dey  wuz  so  late  wuz  bekase  ole 
Miss  Sarah  jes'  wouldn'  go  to  bed. 
Sez  she  wuz  kind  er  'spicious  like, 
walkin'  up  an'  down  on  de  big  front 
piazza.  I  ain't  say  so,  but  I  thought 
ole  Miss  Sarah  wuz  troubled  wid 
'morselessness  'bout  de  way  she  wuz 
treatin'  Miss  Mary. 


40  "UNCLE  PHIL" 

"I  never  is  to  forgit  dat  trip  to 
town.  Dey  wa'n't  nobody  got  kilt, 
an'  de  wa'n't  nobody  got  hu't;  but, 
somehow,  I  wuz  feelin'  pow'ful  onres'- 
less.  I  spec'  it  wuz  'kase  I  wuz  reskin' 
ole  marster's  lone  chile  to  de  yaller 
fever.  Anyhow,  I  sho  ain't  enjoy 
dat  drive. 

"Hit  got  cloudy  'fo'  we  drive  five 
miles.  De  win'  'gin  to  blow  pow'ful 
brisk.  When  we  pass  troo  ole  Cun'l 
Mason's  place,  down  by  de  byar  whar 
his  son  Joe  wuz  drownded,  de  win' 
in  de  big  pines  wuz  mo'nin'  g'as'ly. 
De  trees  grow  moughty  rank  'long  side 
de  byar,  mekin'  hit  plum'  dark.  Ez 
luck  would  hev  it,  de  bre's'  yoke 
come  onloose  jes'  as  we  drive  down  to 
de  fo'd.  I  aluz  did  hate  to  go  'roun' 
dat  place  arfter  dark,  'kase  it  wuz 
ham  ted.  Well,  suh,  when  I  jumped 
out  de  kerige  to  fix  de  bre's'  yoke,  I 


"UNCLE  PHIL"  41 

stumbled  an'  fall  over  sump'n  what 
move  under  me.  De  thing  riz  up  under 
me,  an'  de  fuss  thing  I  knowed,  I  wuz 
right  on  top  er  one  er  ole  Cun'l  Mason's 
cows.  She  run  right  in  de  fo'd,  an' 
I  pitched  in  de  water.  Hit  wa'n't 
deep,  an'  I  ain't  got  wet  much,  but  I's 
boun'  to  admit  I  shiver  monstrous  fer 
moughty  nigh  fo'  miles.  Rose  wuz 
skeered  to  death  till  she  fin'  out  what 
wuz  de  fac',  den  she  larf  fit  to  kill. 
Hit  'muse  Miss  Mary,  too,  an'  she  sho 
needed  hit,  'kase  she  wuz  pow'ful  low 
in  sperits. 

"  Arfter  'while  de  rain  an'  de  lightnin' 
an'  de  win'  all  come  down.  I  fasten 
de  kerige  curtains  tight,  so  Miss  Mary 
wouldn'  git  wet. 

uYo'  know  fer  to  be  ole  marster's 
kerige  driver  I's  bound  to  know  sump'n 
'bout  pullin'  de  lines;  but,  I  tell  yo', 
Marse  John,  dat  wuz  one  night  dis 


42  "UNCLE  PHIL" 

ole  nigger  corned  moughty  nigh  givin' 
up.  Wid  de  win'  an'  de  rain  blowin' 
in  my  eyes,  an'  de  lightnin'  er  blazin' 
an'  bangin'  an'  blindin',  I  couldn't  see 
de  hawses,  let  'lone  de  road.  I  come  so 
nigh  drivin'  off  de  high  bridge  dat  my 
heart  plum'  stopped  beat  in'  fer  'bout 
five  minutes,  I  reckon ;  an'  onct  a  tree 
blowed  down  'cross  de  road  so  close 
behin'  us  dat  de  little  limbs  slapped  on 
de  top  uv  de  kerige. 

"Jes'  as  we  driv  into  town,  de 
sun  wuz  risin'.  I  couldn't  tell  ef 
Miss  Mary  wuz  tired  or  not,  'kase  she 
hed  her  face  all  kivered  up  wid  a  big 
veil.  We  driv  right  down  to  de  '  Battle 
house'  whar  Marse  Henry  wuz. 

"De  town  she  did  look  terrible  lone 
some.  I  ain't  seen  but  jes'  'bout  a 
dozen  people,  an'  we  ain't  pass  but 
two  wagons,  an'  one  dem  hed  a  coffin 
in  it.  I  hope  Miss  Mary  never  seen  it. 


"UNCLE  PHIL"  43 

"When  we  'rive'  at  de  '  Battle  house, ' 
Miss  Mary  hardly  wait  fer  de  kerige  to 
stop  'fo'  she  jumps  out  an'  run  right  up 
de  steps  wid  Rose  behin'  her.  De 
big  front  do'  wuz  open,  an'  little  Miss 
stepped  right  easy  into  de  hall,  an'  I 
seen  her  raise  her  han'  right  swif  to 
her  th'oat  an'  walk  in  a  room  side  de 
hall. 

"  Dat  evenin'  Rose  tells  me,  dat  when 
her  an'  Miss  Mary  step  in  de  hall  dey 
see  Marse  Henry  lyin'  on  a  bed  in  dey 
room  j'inin'  de  hall.  Dar  wuz  a  no 
'count  white  man,  s'pose  to  be  a  miss, 
settin'  side  de  bed  sound  asleep,  an' 
po'  Marse  Henry  wuz  a  burnin'  up 
wid  de  fever,  plum'  outen  he  haid, 
beggin'  fer  water.  Rose  fetch  in  some 
cool  water  fum  de  well,  an'  Miss  Mary 
gin  a  little  uv  it  to  Marse  Henry,  an' 
den  she  bathe  he  haid  wid  a  cool  wet 
rag. 


44  "UNCLE  PHIL" 

"Rose  sez  dat  no  'count  nuss  ain't 
wake  up  fer  moughty  nigh  er  hour. 
When  he  seen  Miss  Mary  in  de  room  he 
tells  her  she  got  to  lef.  But  she  'lowed 
dat  she  ain't  gwine  budge. 

"Pres'n'y,  de  doctor  come  in.  He 
look  like  he  gwine  hev  a  fit  when  he 
seen  Miss  Mary,  an'  say  she  jes'  bound 
to  leave  de  house;  but  Miss  Mary  beg 
so  pitiful  an'  begin  to  cry,  so  de  doctor 
sort  er  melt  down,  an'  tell  her  dat  bein' 
as  she  wuz  in  de  house  she  gwine  hev 
de  yaller  fever  anyhow,  she  jes'  ez  well 
stay.  He  'sist  on  her  gwine  an'  res' 
herself,  do. 

' '  De  folks  what  wuz  livin'  in  de  house 
when  Marse  Henry  wuz  diskivered  to 
hev  de  yaller  fever  hed  run  away  like 
a  pa'cel  er  rabbits,  but  in  de  'citement 
dey  hed  lef  'most  ev'ything  in  de  house. 
So  Miss  Mary  an'  Rose  fix  up  a  room 
upstairs,  an'  dar  dey  camp. 


"UNCLE  PHIL"  45 

"When  I  went  in  de  room  an'  see 
Marse  Henry,  my  heart  jes'  ached  fer 
him  and  po'  little  Miss.  He  had  done 
had  de  fever  tree  er  fo'  days  'fo'  we 
wuz  notify,  an'  sho  looked  tumble 
sick — all  yaller  an'  burnt  up  wid  de 
fever.  I  sot  up  wid  him  dat  night. 

"Late  de  nex'  evenin',  I  went  in  de 
room.  Miss  Mary  an'  de  doctor  wuz 
in  dar.  Marse  Henry  looked  to'ds  me, 
an'  hit  seem  like  he  kinder  smile;  den 
he  let  he  eyes  res'  on  Miss  Mary's  face 
jes'  like  yo'  see  a  baby  look.  I  see 
by  de  joyful  'spression  on  little  Miss' 
face  dat  he  war  better.  Her  face 
looked  mo'  natchel  den  it  hed  fer  a 
week  or  mo'. 

"Fum  dat  on,  Marse  Henry  begin  to 
diskiver  he  strength  back. 

"Hit  war  on  a  Wednesday  dat  we 
git  to  town,  an'  on  Sat'day  ole  marster 
corned.  Miss  Mary  seen  him  when  he 


46  "UNCLE  PHIL" 

driv  up,  an'  she  ran  out  to  meet  him 
at  de  do'.  He  looked  pow'ful  ashy 
an'  stormy  when  he  fust  come,  but  when 
he  had  seen  po'  Marse  Henry,  an'  de 
doctor  had  tol'  him  dat  we  alls  had 
plum'  pulled  Marse  Henry  fum  de 
grave  wid  our  nussin',  he  gin  in. 
Arfter  dat  de  wa'n't  no  better  nuss  in 
de  house  den  ole  marster.  He  wuz 
jes'  ez  tender  wid  him  ez  a  woman. 
I  kinder  b'l'eve  Marse  Henry  'minded 
marster  of  his  boy,  young  Marse  Ben, 
what  died  off  at  college  wid  de  fever 
'fo'  de  wah  started. 

"One  day  arfter  Marse  Henry  had 
got  so  he  could  sorter  notice  'roun' 
some,  I  wuz  in  de  room,  an'  I  hyarn 
him  ax  ole  marster  ef  him  an'  Miss 
Mary  couldn't  git  married  right  den; 
he  sez  he  had  ax  Miss  Mary  an'  she 
wuzwillin'.  De  room  wuz  sorter  dark, 
an'  he  never  knowed  I  wuz  dar.  I 


"UNCLE  PHIL"  47 

'lowed  dat  wa'n't  no  place  for  me,  so 
I  slips  out  to  de  back  yard.  Miss 
Mary  wuz  settin'  on  de  back  po'ch, 
an'  she  axed  me  to  climb  up  in  er 
maple  tree,  what  growed  in  de  back 
yard,  an'  brek  her  some  leaves  what 
hed  done  tu'n  purty. 

"  While  I  wuz  up  de  tree,  Rose  corned 
out  to  de  back  do',  an'  tell  Miss  Mary 
her  pa  want  speak  wid  her.  'Feared 
to  me  Miss  Mary  mus'  er  knowed 
'bout  de  words  what  I  hed  jes'  hyarn 
Marse  Henry  ax  ole  marster,  'kase  when 
Rose  called  her,  she  tu'n  jes'  ez  red  ez 
de  leaves  she  wuz  holdin',  an'  she  wuz 
moughty  slow  'bout  goin'  in  de  house. 

"I  don'  know  what  kinder  pertickler 
business  ole  marster  hed  to  discuss  wid 
Miss  Mary,  an'  it  wa'n't  none  er  my 
business  nurr,  but  I  does  know  dat 
when  ole  Dr.  Taylor  (he  war  de  preacher 
what  baptize  you,  Marse  John)  come 


48  "UNCLE  PHIL" 

to  de  house  dat  evenin',  he  had  he 
little  grip  wid  him. 

"Ole  marster  called  me  in  de  sick 
room.  Ole  Dr.  Taylor  had  on  his  white 
robe,  standin'  by  de  bed.  Miss  Mary 
wuz  standin'  dar  'longside  er  ole 
marster,  an'  my  Rose  wuz  behin'  'em. 

"Marse  Henry  was  pow'ful  pale;  he 
had  he  ha'r  bresh  up  right  brave,  do, 
an*  he  look  moughty  happy  ef  he  war 
flat  er  his  back.  When  it  come  his 
time  to  'sponse,  his  voice  soun'  moughty 
weak,  but  he  war  married  jes'  de 
same. 

"Well,  suh,  arfter  dat  Miss  Mary 
sho  did  nuss  him.  She  wuz  dat  pertick- 
ler  I  thought  she  wuz  gwine  kill 
Marse  Henry.  De  doctor  say,  ef  it 
ain't  been  fer  Miss  Mary's  good  nussin' 
Marse  Henry  sho  would  er  died.  Yo' 
know  ev'ything's  in  de  nussin'  wid 
de  yaller  fever. 


"UNCLE  PHIL"  49 

"None  uv  us  ain't  had  de  fever,  an' 
we  tuk  Marse  Henry  home  in  'bout  two 
weeks.  'Twa'n't  long  'fo'  he  j'ined 
his  regiment,  an'  he  tuk  me  wid  him. 
Talk  'bout  times,  Marse  John,  I  tell 
yo'  I  seen  times  wid  marster  den." 

Uncle  Phil  was  just  about  to  launch 
forth  into  the  history  of  the  "wah, " 
when  a  negro  boy  drove  up  in  a  cart 
with  the  supplies  ordered  by  Captain 
Gregg.  Those  were  soon  transferred 
to  Uncle  Phil's  wagon. 

While  this  was  being  done,  Captain 
Gregg  explained  to  the  old  negro  that 
he  was  sending  a  few  extras  to  Aunt 
Rose  with  his  compliments.  He  then 
handed  a  dollar  to  Uncle  Phil  in  pay 
ment  for  the  eggs. 

Uncle  Phil  held  the  silver  in  his  hand, 
eyeing  it  solemnly.  "Marse  John," 
he  said,  presently,  "I  don'  likes  de 
idea  uv  sellin'  my  white  folks  things. 


50  "UNCLE  PHIL" 

Hit  jes'  natcherly  ain't  right;  hit  ain't 
like  ole  times." 

"There  is  no  selling  about  it,  Uncle 
Phil,"  Captain  Gregg  said  apologeti 
cally.  "You  made  me  a  present  of 
some  nice  fresh  eggs,  and  I  have  sent 
Aunt  Rose  a  few  groceries.  Now  I've 
given  you  a  little  change  for  yourself. 
I  surely  have  a  right  to  do  that, 
haven't  I?" 

Phil's  countenance  cleared,  as  he 
said:  "Marse  John,  yo'  is  a  chip 
off  de  ole  block,  sho  nuff." 

"Now,  Jim,"  said  Captain  Gregg, 
turning  to  the  boy  in  the  cart,  "take 
these  eggs  up  to  Colonel  Lewis's,  with 
this  note." 

"Up  whar  I  carried  them  flowers 
to  de  young  lady,  yesterday,  Mr. 
John?"  inquired  the  boy. 

Captain  Gregg  nodded. 

Uncle  Phil  seemed  interested.     Lean- 


"UNCLE  PHIL"  51 

ing  out  of  his  wagon  toward  Captain 
Gregg,  he  whispered:  "Marse  John, 
hit  looks  like  yo'  gwine  give  dis  ole 
nigger  a  young  mistis."  And  judging 
from  the  chuckle  that  accompanied  this 
remark,  there  was  no  serious  objection 
to  be  looked  for  from  him. 

Then  he  gathered  up  his  reins,  and 
with  many  bows  and  expressions  of 
thanks  and  praise,  he  started  on  his 
journey  toward  home  and  his  rheu 
matic  Rose. 


Only  a  Snipe 

(Courtesy  of  The  Christian  Herald) 

'  The  leper  raised  not  the  gold  from  the 

dust  :— 

'  Better  to  me  the  poor  man's  crust, 
Better  the  blessing  of  the  poor, 
Though  I  turn  me  empty  from  his  door : 
That  is  no  true  alms  which  the  hand 

can  hold; 
He  gives  only  tjie  worthless  gold 

Who  gives  from  a  sense  of  duty; 
But  he  who  gives  but  a  slender  mite, 
And  gives  to  that  which  is  out  of 

sight,- 
That  thread   of  the  all-sustaining 

Beauty 
Which  runs  through  all  and  doth  all 

unite,— 
The  hand  cannot  clasp  the  whole  of 

his  alms, 

The  heart  outstretches  its  eager  palms ; 
52 


ONLY  A  SNIPE  53 

For  a  god  goes  with  it  and  makes  it 

store 
To  the  soul  that    was    starving  in 

darkness  before.' ' 

The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal. 


I  NEVER  hear  or  read  any  lines  from 
The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal  but 
what  I  think  of  McWillie  and  of  a 
story  he  told  me  of  a  man  with  whom 
he  had  worked  on  the  "  Cisco  "  railroad. 
McWillie  is  a  civil  engineer;  and  as 
such  saw  all  sorts  of  life.  A  man  of  his 
profession,  you  know,  may  spend  all  the 
day  slopping  around  in  mud  and  water, 
and  associating  with  all  sorts  of  "  rough 
necks,  "  and  that  night  be  in  his  full 
dress  at  some  swell  social  function. 

McWillie  told  me  this  story  in  the 
Bruly  railway  station  while  we  were 
waiting  for  a  down  train.  How  he 
came  to  tell  it  was  this  way:  A  rail- 


54  ONLY  A  SNIPE 

road  employee  came  along,  and  talked 
with  Mac  for  awhile  about  the  work 
on  a  new  branch  road  where  Mac 
had  been  running  some  lines  and,  as  the 
railroad  man  was  leaving,  Mac  called 
to  him  and  asked  what  had  become  of 
one  Thompson.  "He's  down  and  out. 
Only  a  snipe  now."  was  the  reply. 
"Only  a  'snipe,'  huh,"  said  Mac,  with 
a  disgusted  accent  on  the  "only." 

I  thought  I  was  pretty  well  up  on 
railroad  lingo,  having  traveled  for 
several  years,  but  "snipe"  was  a  new 
one  on  me,  and  not  wishing  to  wander 
farther  in  ignorance,  I  asked  my 
friend  to  enlighten  me. 

"There  was  a  time  when  I  didn't 
know  what  a  'snipe'  was,  myself," 
said  Mac  encouragingly.  "I'll  tell 
you  what  a  'snipe'  is."  He  climbed 
up  on  a  baggage  truck,  settled  himself 
comfortably,  and  went  on:  "During 


ONLY  A  SNIPE  55 

the  high  water  of  1912,  I  was  rushed 
up  to  our  big  bridge  on  the  Atchafalaya 
to  help  save  it.  We  had  some  gang 
up  there,  believe  me.  You  know  the 
Atchafalaya  is  one  of  the  most  treacher 
ous  rivers  in  the  South.  It  is  hard 
enough  to  keep  up  with  its  shenanigans 
when  it's  down,  but  in  high  water, 
when  the  Mississippi  is  sending  some 
of  her  overplus  through  that  way  on 
a  short  cut  to  the  Gulf,  she's  as  full 
of  tricks  as  a  cage  full  of  monkeys, 
as  terrible  and  powerful  as  millions  of 
gorillas,  and  more  deceitful  than 
Machiavelli. 

"I  remember  I  was  sent  up  there 
once,  when  the  water  was  tolerably 
high,  to  investigate  the  foundations. 
I  sounded  backward  and  forward  around 
the  piers,  and  found  everything  as 
lovely  and  smooth  as  you  would  in  the 
mildest  mannered  river  in  the  world. 


56  ONLY  A  SNIPE 

It  was  too  good:  I  became  suspicious. 
The  more  I  thought  it  over,  the  surer 
I  was  that  she  had  something  hid  from 
me.  My  train  was  late,  so  I  took  my 
lead  up  above  the  bridge  and  dropped 
it  in  only  to  find  a  good  solid  bottom, 
just  where  it  should  be.  With  any 
other  stream  I  should  have  felt  ashamed 
of  myself,  but  with  the  Atchafalaya, 
no.  I  was  on  to  her  curves,  so  went 
up  just  a  little  bit  farther,  dropped  in 
my  lead  two  hundred  feet,  and  found 
no  bottom!  That  river  was  eating 
her  way  to  the  bridge  at  the  rate  of 
more  than  fifty  feet  per  day;  and  it 
would  not  have  been  many  days  be 
fore  she  would  have  eaten  the  bridge 
and,  maybe,  a  nice  juicy  trainload  of 
passengers.  You  bet  there  was  some 
tall  pile  driving  going  on  there  the 
next  day;  and  the  big  cypress  trees 
out  of  the  'forest  primeval/  impelled 


ONLY  A  SNIPE  57 

by  a  giant  pile-driver,  were  standing 
on  their  heads  in  that  river  bottom  a 
whole  lot  closer  together  than  they 
had  ever  been  before;  and  that  sand 
and  mud  food  was  so  filled  with  those 
seventy-foot  splinters  that  the  old  lady 
gave  up  eating  it.  She  likely  turned 
her  attention  to  some  poor  levee  miles 
below,  where,  with  the  help  of  a  few 
crayfish  holes,  she'd  eat  her  way  out 
to  thousands  of  acres  of  young  sugar 
cane. 

"But  that  has  nothing  much  to  do 
with  my  'snipe'  yarn.  As  I  was 
saying,  it  was  high  water  time,  and 
I  had  been  sent  to  help  save  the 
bridge.  The  Atchafalaya  was  levee 
top  high;  and  it  looked  as  if  nothing 
short  of  a  nice  $50,000.00  steel  bridge 
would  appease  her  dainty  appetite.  It 
was  about  the  middle  of  June,  and  our 
work-train 


58  ONLY  A  SNIPE 

'.      .  lay 

In  a  sidin'  through  the  day, 
Where    the    'eat    would    make    your 
bloomin'  eyebrows  crawl.' 

4  The  whole  gang,  with  a  few  excep 
tions,  from  the  chief  to  the  water-boy, 
was  hot  and,  more  or  less,  mad  and 
cranky.  One  of  these  exceptions  was 
a  short,  red -headed,  freckled -faced, 
middle-aged  man  with  large  ears 
and  kindly  eyes.  His  ugliness  would 
attract  almost  anyone.  I  was  used 
to  seeing  lots  of  ugly  'roughnecks,' 
though,  and  the  thing  that  got  me 
interested  in  him  was,  first,  that  I 
recalled  having  seen  him,  about  six 
months  before,  do  something  quite 
unusual,  and,  secondly,  because  I 
noticed  that  he  was  always  doing  some 
unselfish  thing.  The  six  months  ago 
thing  was  this:  It  was  up  on  the 
'Cisco'  branch,  where  I  had  been 


ONLY  A  SNIPE  59 

running  some  levels  for  a  new  trestle. 
I  was  there  for  only  a  part  of  a  day. 
Just  before  I  left,  I  saw  this  little 
fellow,  named  McCrea,  mix  in  with  a 
little  affair  of  one  of  the  'squawks.' 
A  '  squawk '  is  a  '  straw  boss, '  that  is  a 
sort  of  under  boss  who  works  just  a  few 
men.  Clothed  with  a  little  brief  au 
thority,  they  often  get  awfully  stuck 
on  themselves  and  become  tyrannous. 
This  particular  'squawk'  had  a  big 
supply  of  muscle  and  profanity  and, 
seemingly,  no  heart.  One  of  his  men 
was  a  poor,  weak,  little  'Cajun,'  and 
because  the  little  fellow  just  naturally 
didn't  have  the  'punch'  in  him  to 
move  some  of  the  work  quickly,  it 
nettled  the  'squawk,'  and  it  looked 
like  he  took  a  delight  in  picking  on 
the  man,  and  would  purposely  throw 
him  in  all  sorts  of  tight  places  so  as 
to  burn  him  out.  If  the  'Cajun' 


60  ONLY  A  SNIPE 

burned  out,  all  the  'squawk'  had  to  do 
was  to  holler:  'Gimme  another  hat' 
(a  'hat'  is  just  a  man — good,  bad,  or 
indifferent),  and  he  would  be  given 
another  worker.  Squawk  didn't  speak 
any  French,  and  the  'Cajun'  didn't 
understand  much  English,  but  he  did 
understand  enough  to  know  when 
Squawk  vilely  cursed  him,  and  he 
said  to  Squawk,  with  a  meaning  shake 
of  his  head:  '  Vous  ne  devais  plus 
parlez  de  cette  maniere,'  or  something 
like  that,  meaning,  'Don't  talk  that 
way  to  me  any  more.' 

"Squawk  either  understood  it,  or 
didn't  understand  and  thought  the  '  Ca 
jun  '  was  cursing  him,  maybe ;  anyway, 
he  gave  the  little  fellow  a  mean  shove, 
and  cursed  him  fiercely.  That  little 
'Cajun'  hopped  on  him  like  a  wild 
cat,  but  Squawk  was  many  times 
his  match,  and  in  a  jiffy  had  the 


ONLY  A  SNIPE  61 

'Cajun'  out  at  arm's  length  pounding 
his  face  into  pulp.  This  was  the 
opportunity  that  Squawk  had  been 
looking  for — to  teach  his  men  his 
power:  but  he  had  underrated  one 
of  them — this  red-headed  fellow  Mc- 
Crea,  who,  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to 
tell  it,  had  jumped  into  the  fight, 
thrown  the  'Cajun'  aside,  and  with 
a  few  steam-hammer  blows  and  some 
jiu-jitsu  movements,  had  Squawk 
whipped  to  a  frazzle.  My  train  pulled 
out  just  after  the  fight,  but  I  heard 
afterwards  that  McCrea  had  been 
discharged  for  insubordination.  I 
hadn't  seen  him  again  until  I  met  him 
on  that  work  up  there  on  the  bridge. 
I  took  an  interest  in  the  fellow,  and 
soon  discovered  that  he  was  always 
on  the  'firing  line,'  ready  to  do  more 
than  his  share  of  every  piece  of  work. 
If  he  was  helping  carry  a  piece  of 


62  ONLY  A  SNIPE 

timber,  and  the  man  on  his  hand- 
stick  looked  worn  out  or  less  strong 
than  himself,  McCrea  would  get  up 
a  little  on  the  stick,  and  thus  take  some 
of  the  other  fellow's  load.  He  was 
all  man,  though,  and  saw  to  it  that  no 
one  intentionally  imposed  upon  him. 
I  was  standing  near  him  on  the  works, 
and,  in  the  course  of  his  remarks,  I 
heard  him  quote  some  appropriate 
line  from  Kipling's  Gunga  Din.  That 
night,  after  supper,  he  was  out  putting 
a  patch  on  his  mosquito  bar,  and  I 
struck  up  a  conversation  with  him  by 
offering  him  some  of  my  'Skeeter- 
Skoot.'  We  chatted  for  quite  a  while. 
I  asked  him  if  he  was  Scotch.  '  Well, 
yes,'  he  replied,  'in  a  way  I  am.  My 
father  was  Scotch,  Irish,  and  English: 
my  mother  is  part  French  and  English. 
Her  father  was  a  German  Jew.  I'm 
just  a  plain  American.'  I  told  him 


ONLY  A  SNIPE  63 

that  I  heard  him  quote  some  Kipling, 
and  asked  him  how  he  liked  him.  Of 
course  he  agreed  with  me  in  thinking 
Kipling  great.  There  was  nothing  of 
the  pedant  about  the  fellow.  In  fact, 
he  murdered  the  King's  English  worse 
than  Kipling's  East  Indians  did  at 
times;  but  I  soon  learned  that  he  had 
been  a  great  reader — not  by  his  saying 
so,  for  anyone  can  do  that,  but 
because  of  his  intimate  acquaintance 
with  many  characters  of  good  fiction 
who  were  dear  to  me.  I  talked  books 
with  him,  and  wished  I  had  had  some 
with  me;  though  I  believe  a  man 
caught  with  a  book  in  daytime  in  that 
rush  would  have  been  shot  on  the  spot ; 
and  at  night  the  mosquitoes  would 
have  eaten  you  up  about  the  lights, 
or  you'd  have  burned  up  your  mosquito 
bar  in  getting  one  of  our  dingy  old  kero 
sene  lamps  close  up  enough  to  read  by. 


64  ONLY  A  SNIPE 

"When  a  costly  bridge  is  in  danger, 
railroad  officials  don't  lose  any  time 
in  placing  their  guests  at  the  tea-party ; 
and  so  it  turned  out  that  McCrea, 
who  had  so  nobly  assisted  the  'Cajun,' 
was  working  right  along  now  with 
Squawk.  McCrea  was  nice  enough, 
and  seemed  to  have  forgiven  every 
thing.  Not  so  with  Squawk.  He  had 
been  ragged  many,  many  times  about 
that  beating,  and  was  now  looking 
for  any  opening  for  a  chance  to  get 
even.  Once,  when  McCrea  jumped 
in  and  helped  take  off  an  unnecessary 
strain  that  Squawk  had  thrown  on  a 
negro  workman,  I  heard  Squawk  say 
something  desperately  unpleasant  and 
uncomplimentary.  McCrea  heard  him 
but  paid  no  attention  to  it. 

"We  were  right  in  the  hottest  of  the 
fight  for  the  bridge,  building  braces 
and  cribbing  to  break  the  force  of  the 


ONLY  A  SNIPE  65 

rushing  water,  when  Squawk,  who  was 
at  the  time  actually  working,  lost  his 
balance,  and  fell  off  the  bridge  railing. 
In  falling,  his  head  struck  a  projecting 
beam  that  knocked  him  senseless. 
Just  as  he  struck  the  water,  the  sus 
pender  of  his  overalls  caught  on  a 
spike;  but  the  water  sucked  his  body 
under  the  timbers,  and  he  would  have 
drowned  in  a  few  minutes,  had  it  not 
been  for  McCrea.  There  was  no  lack 
of  ropes  at  hand ;  and  McCrea  grabbed 
the  end  of  one,  and  jumped  off  the 
bridge.  The  water  was  only  a  few 
feet  below ;  but  the  way  it  was  snatching 
and  sucking  about  those  piers  and  pil 
ings  was  awful.  McCrea  didn't  have 
to  do  any  swimming  for  he  had  hardly 
struck  the  water  when  he  was  driven 
like  a  chip  against  the  pilings  where 
Squawk  was  caught.  The  hardest 
thing  he  had  to  do  was  to  hold  on  with 


66  ONLY  A  SNIPE 

one  hand  tight  enough  to  keep  from 
being  sucked  under,  while  he  made 
the  rope  fast  to  Squawk.  It  only 
took  him  a  few  seconds  to  do  this; 
and  we  soon  pulled  Squawk  up  on  the 
bridge.  McCrea  was  now  holding  on 
with  both  hands,  with  his  back  up 
stream;  but  before  we  could  untie  the 
rope  off  Squawk,  a  big  timber  swirled 
through  and  struck  McCrea  with  the 
force  of  a  projectile.  The  end  of  the 
timber  was  a  jagged  splinter,  that 
struck  right  through  McCrea's  body 
below  the  right  shoulder  blade.  There 
was  no  danger  of  his  sinking,  stuck 
on  like  that;  and  we  rigged  up  some 
poles  and  lines  as  fast  as  we  could,  and 
soon  had  the  poor  fellow,  along  with 
Squawk,  carrying  them  to  the  camp 
car.  Squawk  regained  consciousness 
in  a  little  while,  but  was  as  weak  as  a 
cat  from  the  cut  in  the  head  and  his 


ONLY  A  SNIPE  67 

ducking.  Poor  McCrea  had  never  en 
tirely  lost  consciousness,  and  suffered 
terribly  until  the  King  Snipe  gave 
him  morphine.  His  wound  was  fatal. 
A  man  was  rushed  off  on  a  motorcycle 
to  Birma,  a  few  miles  above,  to  bring  a 
doctor;  and  we  telephoned  to  have 
number  fifty-three  stop  at  the  bridge 
and  take  McCrea  down  to  the  city. 
On  account  of  the  high  water  above 
the  train  was  delayed.  The  morphine 
eased  McCrea,  but  didn't  put  him 
asleep ;  and  he  called  for  me.  I  knew  he 
was  dying;  and  in  the  presence  of  that 
little,  red-headed,  freckled-faced  (the 
freckles  showed  plainly  now,  his  face 
was  so  white),  big-eared  man,  I  felt 
confused  and  ashamed.  He  asked  me 
if  I  had  a  Bible.  I  didn't  have  a 
Bible,  and  would  have  given  a  month's 
salary  for  one  or  a  prayer-book;  and 
told  him  so.  He  asked  me  if  I  had 


68  ONLY  A  SNIPE 

anything  I  could  read  to  him.  I 
remembered  that  I  had  a  small  book 
of  Lowell's  poems  in  my  coat  pocket 
at  the  bridge,  and  hurried  off  to  get  it. 
When  I  returned  McCrea  had  his  eyes 
closed.  I  thought  he  was  asleep  orf 
perhaps,  dead;  but  he  said,  without 
opening  his  eyes,  '  Please  read  The  Vis 
ion  of  Sir  Launfal.'  It  was  mighty 
hard  for  me  to  make  my  voice  behave, 
but  I  read.  When  I  got  to  that  place 
where  Sir  Launfal  shared  his  crust 
with,  and  gave  water  to,  the  leper, 
and  read  what  the  leper,  transformed, 
said,  I  knew  McCrea  understood. 
You  remember  how  it  goes: 

"  'Lo,  it  is  I,  be  not  afraid! 
In  many  climes,  without  avail, 
Thou   hast    spent   thy  life  for  the 

Holy  Grail: 
Behold,  it  is  here, — this  cup  which 

thou 


ONLY  A  SNIPE  69 

Didst  fill  at   the  streamlet  for  me 

but  now; 
This   crust  is  my  body  broken  for 

thee, 
This  water  His  blood  that  died  on 

the  tree; 

The  Holy  Supper  is  kept  indeed 
In  whatso  we  share  with  another's 

need. 
Not   what   we   give,  but   what   we 

share, — 
For   the   gift  without   the  giver  is 

bare; 
Who    gives   himself   with  his   alms 

feeds  three, — 

Himself,  his  hungering  neighbor,  and 
Me.' 

"Squawk,  who  was  on  a  cot,  just  a 
little  way  off,  understood  too;  for  he 
came  over,  and  thanked  McCrea,  and 
told  him  in  a  shaky  voice  that  he  was 
truly  sorry  for  all  he  had  said  and  done. 
I  didn't  know  it  was  in  Squawk  to  do 


70  ONLY  A  SNIPE 

such  a  big  thing.  I  have  heard  since 
that  he  is  a  changed  man,  and  is  patient 
and  fair  with  his  gang.  I  sat  with 
McCrea  for  about  an  hour — until  he 
died.  I  thought  a  whole  lot  while  I 
was  sitting  there — of  how  many  of  us 
are  missing  the  Gate.  '  Because  strait 
is  the  gate,  and  narrow  is  the  way, 
which  leadeth  unto  life;  and  few  there 
be  that  find  it.'  When  I  got  up 
there  were  tears  in  my  eyes — and  it 
seemed  that  I  almost  saw  Him  standing 
before  me, 

"'   ...  glorified 

Shining  and  tall  and  fair  and  straight 
As  the  pillar  that  stood  by  the  Beau 
tiful  Gate,— 

Himself  the  Gate  whereby  men  can 
Enter  the  temple  of  God  in  Man." 

Our  train  was  blowing  for  the  station. 
McWillie  slid  down  off  the  baggage 


— and  it  seemed  that  I  almost  saw  Him  standing 
before  me. 


ONLY  A  SNIPE  71 

truck,  and  said:  "A  'snipe'  is  a 
railroad  section  hand;  a  'king  snipe' 
is  a  section  boss.  McCrea  was  only  a 
'snipe.'" 


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